Star Power
by Sophia Hawkins
Summary: Jack McCoy may have taken on more than he can handle in a bizarre case where a man is murdered and his celebrity son and daughter-in-law both look good for it, but nothing about the case seems to be quite 'right', including the people involved.
1. Chapter 1

Star Power

"It's not that I _mind_ homicides," Lennie said as he and Rey got out of their car, "After all that's how I pay my ex-wives' alimony, but why do so many of them have to be so late at night?"

Rey just chuckled lightly and remarked, "Murder doesn't take a holiday, Lennie, it's a 24 hour occurrence."

"24 hours doesn't mean they have to be all in a row you know," Lennie replied.

It was going on two o' clock in the morning and the night club they pulled up in front of had a massive crowd gathered round. Lennie looked up at the neon sign, 'The Black Raven', catchy…maybe kinky as well, he didn't know, he hadn't been inside yet. The block was colored in flashing reds and blues from the surrounding police cars and ambulances that had gotten onto the scene before them. Amidst all the cops and paramedics were the club goers, and some passersby from the immediate surrounding area, trying to figure out what had happened.

"Let's go see what happened this time," Lennie said.

They walked up to the unis on the scene and got a tour over to the corner past the club, where a body lay on the pavement covered by a sheet.

"What're we looking at here?" Rey asked.

The sheet was lifted so they could get a look at the victim for themselves as one of the unis explained, "Shooting gone good, three bullets and he's gone, unfortunately so is the shooter and the gun as far as we can tell, though we just started canvassing." The man was large, probably just over 6 feet tall, probably somewhere over 200 pounds, he looked strong, he looked mean, and right now he was looking very dead, his shirt soaked in blood which had leaked out to the pavement beneath him as well.

"Random shooting?" Lennie asked as the body was re-covered with the sheet.

"Ah…we're still working on that. Everybody _heard_ the shooting but nobody really saw anything, _nobody_ got a good look at the shooter, only saw that these two were having some words, one shot the other and took off. Guy's name is Oswald Cain, 56 years old, you know who that is?" one of the young cops asked.

"Should we?" Lennie asked, a bit dumbstruck.

"Heard of his son, Jimmy Cain?" the cop asked.

"_Should_ we?" Lennie asked, even more dumbstruck.

"I heard of him," Rey said, "Not quite a rags to riches story. After finishing college, this guy got lucky on some small time gambling, then invested it and played the stock market, got lucky again, reinvested it in a film company a friend of his was starting, he became co-owner and a self made multi-millionaire before he was 25 years old."

"Must be good movies," Lennie commented in a deadpan manner.

"I took my daughters to see one of them last summer, they're all relatively family friendly."

"That explains it, that's where the real money is," Lennie slightly nodded, "Why complain about screaming kids at the latest R rated movie when you can take them all to see The Lion King and shut them up?"

"Not like that, Lennie, you ever see any of those screwball movies Disney made in the 70s?" Rey asked.

"Only about 500 of them," Lennie replied, "That was one thing I _was_ around for when my daughters were growing up."

"I think they're trying to bring back _that_ kind of formula mixed with more current stuff," Rey said, "Jimmy's also become a star in his own films over the last couple years, apparently the girls like to look at him."

"I guess that means some of the boys do too," Lennie noted.

The young uniformed cop told Rey, "Jimmy Cain was here tonight."

"When his father was shot?"

"Yeah, he's still here, being questioned."

"What's he say?" Lennie asked.

"Ain't said much, I think he's in shock," the cop told them.

"Where is he?" Rey asked.

The cop pointed and the two homicide detectives thanked him and decided to head on over to talk to the young man themselves. They made their way through the crowd and paramedics and other policemen and came face to face with Jimmy Cain, 31 years old, still looked hardly old enough to drive: tall, lean, baby face, bright baby blue eyes, dark hair, dressed in a suit more suitable for a formal occasion than a night club, and right now he looked like nothing more than a little kid scared out of his shoes by what was going on. He stood not 20 feet away from his father's body and had his eyes positioned on the body under the sheet.

"Mr. Cain?" Lennie said as they approached him.

No response.

"Jimmy!" Rey called.

That got his attention, the young man looked up and saw them for the first time.

"Detectives Briscoe and Curtis, we need to talk to you about your father," Lennie said.

The first words out of the young man's mouth weren't what they expected.

"He…he's really dead, isn't he?"

"I'm afraid so," Rey nodded, "Did you see what happened?"

Jimmy Cain slowly shook his head and said slowly, like he was in a haze, "No, I was inside the club when we heard the shots."

"_We_?" Lennie repeated, "You were here with somebody?"

"My wife…"

"Is the whole family down here?" Lennie asked cynically.

"Do you have any idea who would want your father dead, Mr. Cain?" Rey asked.

Jimmy shook his head slowly and said brokenly, "I don't know…I don't know anything…I don't even know where my wife is."

"Didn't you just say she was here with you at the club?" Lennie asked.

Jimmy nodded mechanically as he continued to stare at the body on the ground.

"Jimmy, these are some routine questions we have to ask," Rey told him, "How would you describe your relationship with your father?"

Also mechanically, as if he was anticipating their question and prepared for it, he answered, "We didn't get along…that's an understatement." But that was all he said.

"What were you all doing here tonight?" Lennie asked.

"My wife and I came here to dance," Jimmy answered distantly, "We…just danced the night away. Then she went to the bathroom…I didn't…she didn't come back when the shots rang out."

"And your father? Any idea what he was doing here?"

"He followed us in," Jimmy said.

"Jimmy, do you happen to own a gun?" Lennie asked, figuring this would be the question to snap the man back to reality and make him froth at the mouth for them suggesting such a thing.

But instead, he just shook his head from side to side.

"Officers," one of the women from the club who looked about 30, came up to the homicide detectives and said without any introduction, "She might have done this."

"Who's that?" Lennie asked.

"Jimmy's wife, Lynda Watkins," she answered, "We all heard them fighting tonight." She pointed to the dead man and said, "He followed them in and they got into it, and Lynda said she was going to kill him if he didn't leave them alone. She _could_ have done this."

Lennie and Ray looked at each other in curiosity.

"Could you hear what they were saying?" Rey asked her.

"You kidding me?" she asked, "We could hear them clear over the music."

"Well would you mind enlightening us on it?" Lennie replied.

"Well at the time it was just…it was almost like watching a movie because the whole thing was so ridiculous, they'd ordered some champagne and just started drinking it when _he_ came in, when they heard his voice they both spat out their champagne. And he made a big deal about if the police would ever raid the club and Jimmy's name would come up in the news for it."

"Dear old dad cared a lot about public image, eh?" Lennie inquired.

The woman rolled her eyes, "He always thought he was responsible for Jimmy getting rich, always thought he had _something_ to do with it," she shook her head.

"So then what happened?" Rey asked.

"He asked Jimmy how it would look if he got busted during a raid, and she said to him something about 'how will you look with a chalk outline around you and your throat cut open?'."

"Charming," Lennie commented nonchalantly.

"She told him, they came to have a good time, which was anywhere he wasn't, then she yelled for the bouncer. When he asked what the trouble was, she told him that…" she pointed to Oswald's body, "He was a violent drunk pretending to be her husband and wouldn't leave her alone."

"Any trouble after that?" Rey asked.

"The bouncer was just about going to pick him up and toss him out the door, but he left on his own. But right before he left, Lynda said to him 'If you ever come near us again, I'll kill you', and then once he was gone she said to her husband...'let's dance'."

"That's different," Lennie said.

"What time was this tonight?" Rey asked the woman.

"A little before nine," she answered."

"And they've been here all night?" Rey questioned.

"Yeah, around 1:30 everybody was starting to leave, then she went to the ladies room, 10 minutes later we all heard the shots."

"And did you see her after she went to the bathroom?" Lennie asked.

The woman shook her head, "I don't think anybody has."

Lennie nodded, "Okay, we're going to have you talk to one of the uniformed cops over there and give them a statement and your name and where they can find you if we need to talk to you again, you've been very helpful."

Rey looked to his partner and asked him, "You think the wife looks good for this?"

"I think she _sounds_ good for it but where the hell is she?"

"Hey Jimmy!" a loud voice called out into the night. The two homicide detectives turned and saw a couple unis escorting a woman out of the club. She looked somewhere between 25-30, stood a few inches shorter than her husband, reddish brown hair chopped short in an almost flapper girl style and was wearing a sparkling blue cocktail dress and black shoes. She gave the appearance of being slightly intoxicated but at the same time, looked lucid enough to tell them something credible if asked.

"This should be interesting," Lennie murmured to Rey.

"Can you believe it, Jimmy?" Lynda Watkins asked as she was reunited with her husband, "I come out of the ladies' room and there's three armed cops standing around waiting for me. What's going on here?"

She looked around and looked past the crowd and the police and saw the body laying on the sidewalk, and her expression dropped, and she turned to her husband and asked him, "Is that Oswald?"

Jimmy Cain just slowly nodded his head and answered, "Yes…"

"Is he dead?" she asked, more nonchalant about it now.

The man nodded and answered again, "Yes."

Lynda took a few seconds for this to sink in, then she turned around to the club goers and bellowed at the top of her lungs, "Champagne for everyone!"

Lennie leaned towards Rey and said under his breath, "You don't suppose we could ever get this lucky one time on a case, do you?"

"I don't know," Rey answered uncertainly, "But I guess we're going to find out."

Lennie cleared his throat as he came up to Lynda and said to her, "Sorry to break up the party, but we need to ask you some questions and I think it would be better if we did it at our precinct where it's a bit more private."

The woman looked upset by this news and said to him, "Alright but it's not going to take long, is it? I mean we _do_ have to celebrate now."

"Oh I'm sure there'll be plenty of time for that," Lennie replied, "If you'll just step over here to our car, please."


	2. Chapter 2

"When can I see my husband?" Lynda asked the detectives for the third time in the hour they'd been questioning her. She had been totally unfazed by most of what had been going on since they left the club, and it left Lennie and Rey scratching their heads if she was guilty or just a nutcase. The two of them had been chiseling at her for an hour while in another room, Van Buren had had Jimmy in her own clutches for questioning; so far they didn't have any idea if she was able to get anything out of him, and they sure as hell had not had any luck themselves getting any straight answers out of this one.

"Did you shoot your father-in-law, Miss Watkins?" Lennie asked point blank.

She got out a strangled chuckle and said, "I wish, you go to the bathroom for 10 minutes and you miss everything."

"Actually you were in there for 20 minutes, weren't you?" Lennie asked.

"Does that matter?" she asked.

"Actually it does in a murder investigation," Lennie said, "You wouldn't care to explain what took so long, would you?"

"No I would not," Lynda looked up at him from where she was seated at the table.

"We need to know," Rey told her.

She looked at him across the table with an annoyed scowl on her face and she finally answered, "I was having a fight with the sanitary napkin dispenser, the knob stuck halfway through depositing the quarter."

"Did anyone see you, or try to help you?" Lennie asked.

"The place was pretty empty when I went in, just about everybody had left by that time," she answered, "I was going to mention it to the manager when the police came and got me."

"You know this doesn't look good for you, right?" Rey asked, "You have no real alibi for the time of the murder, and you _were_ seen arguing with your father-in-law tonight."

"I fought with him every single time he came around," Lynda replied, "So what? I didn't like him and I wanted him dead."

"And now he _is_ dead," Lennie pointed out.

"Which is proof that prayers _do_ get answered," Lynda said lightly.

"Did you kill Oswald Cain, Miss Watkins?" Rey asked.

"How did he die?" she asked.

"You know how he died."

"Do I?" she asked, "He was bloody, that means he could've been stabbed, shot, beaten to death, somebody could've uppercut him and shoved his nose bones up into his brains, somebody could've cut his throat. You tell me how he died."

"He was shot three times," Lennie answered.

"_Only_ three?" Lynda asked, "Wonder why the guy didn't stick around to finish the job."

"Do you own a gun, Miss Watkins?" Lennie asked.

"I own several, all registered and with permits," she told him.

"Did you have a gun with you tonight?" Rey asked her.

She was unfazed as she responded, "Now you don't think if I was going to shoot Oswald, that I'd keep the gun for you to find, do you?"

"We deal with a lot of criminals, most of them are generally not too bright in their planning which is how they get caught," Lennie said, "Now did you or didn't you have a gun with you tonight?"

"You see a holster on this outfit anywhere?" Lynda asked and raised her arms so he could get a better look at her dress, "No pockets either."

"Your purse?" Lennie suggested.

"Oh yeah? Well you're a sofa," Lynda remarked.

"I mean," Lennie paused and tried not to laugh, "Do you keep a gun in your purse?"

"I don't have a purse," she said.

"Well where do you keep your money?" Lennie asked her.

"In my bra," Lynda answered, "I suppose now you're going to ask if I put the gun in my bra, the answer's no, I don't deal in pocket pistols."

"Well where do you keep your driver's license?" Rey asked her.

"I don't have one, I don't drive."

"What about your ID?" Lennie asked.

"I don't take it with me when I go out," she answered, "Overseas yes, but out to a club? No, everybody there knows me."

"Then what would happen if you wound up dead in an alley somewhere?" Lennie wanted to know.

"Well that's easy," she told them, "I have my name and my phone number tattooed on the bottom of my foot. They could I.D. me very easily by that, now when can I see my husband?"

"That depends," Rey said, "Did you kill Oswald Cain?"

"I answered that already."

"Do you know anyone who'd want to kill him?"

"Besides me? Probably half the people in this country," she answered.

"And why is that?" Lennie asked her.

"Everybody knows who Jimmy is," Lynda explained, "And everybody knows what kind of a man Oswald was."

"What kind is that?" Lennie asked.

Lynda looked straight at him and answered venomously, "Inhuman." There was a brief pause after that before she added, "Everybody can sympathize with that, with Jimmy. Oswald's not going to be missed by anybody, so why is all this necessary?"

"Let's try this one, do you have any idea who _did_ kill him?" Rey asked her.

"Somebody with a gun, doesn't narrow your search down any either, can I go now?" Lynda wanted to know. "I've answered all of your questions 3 times now and I'm tired of hearing myself talk. I want to see my husband, and then I want to go home and go to sleep."

"We can't help noticing you're being very nonchalant about this murder, Miss Watkins," Lennie said.

"Well it _was_ Oswald," she said as she crossed her legs, "It wasn't like he was anybody that meant anything. Besides, I'm only nonchalant about it _now_, as soon as I get out of here I plan to find an all night liquor store and buy a case of champagne so we can celebrate."

"You really didn't like your father-in-law, did you?" Lennie asked humorously.

"I despised him and the ground he walked on," she answered, "I plotted his death a hundred different times in a hundred different ways from the first time I ever heard of the man, let alone saw him."

"And that said, you really expect us to believe you didn't kill him?" Lennie asked.

"That's right," she held her hands up, "Go ahead, test me for nitrate."

Lennie didn't say anything and neither did Rey, which gave her a chance to say what she was thinking.

"You've held me in here against my will for over an hour on the happiest night of my life. None of your witnesses can describe what the gunman looked like so I know you know there's no physical evidence pointing to me. You have nothing to hold me on other than the mere fact that I hated the man who fathered my husband. That's not grounds for an arrest and I'm done answering your questions, now I want to be let out of here and see my husband. This is a very important time for him now."

On that note, Lynda stood up and walked out of the room and called throughout the police station for her husband. Jimmy, who was still in shock by what had happened.

"Jimmy, let's get out of here and go home, the mood here is depressing. Let's go home and light some skyrockets."

By this time, the detectives saw another character had been added to the plot. While they were interviewing Lynda, Mrs. Cain, Jimmy's mother, Astrid Cain, a woman in her 50s who looked 10 years older than that, had shown up at the police station and stood beside her son sobbing into a handkerchief.

"Oh cheer up, Mama," Lynda said to the older woman, "You ain't gotta carry on like they did in the old times for 40 days and 40 nights, it's okay to start dating again and I'd recommend right away."

Astrid Cain hit a higher note of sobs when Lynda said that to her.

"Come on, Mama, let's go home," Jimmy said as he took her by the arm, "I know this has been a bad night."

"Well it _was_ up till 1:40 anyway," Lynda remarked.

"Miss Watkins, I'm sure you've already anticipated what we're about to say, but don't leave town," Rey said to her as they exited the precinct.

"Leave town? Are you kidding? The whole family's going to be crawling out of the woodwork over this," she told him, "We're going to have a good time right at home."

Arm in arm in arm, the three strange figures left the police station, paying no attention to the detectives watching them, nor to Jack McCoy, who had stood back and watched the whole thing without interruption.

"That was one of the weirdest things I've ever seen in my life," Jack told Lieutenant Van Buren.

"I told you you wouldn't believe it," she said.

"I think that woman scares me," Jack said, "If she _did_ kill her father-in-law, she's a homicidal maniac with no concern about getting caught, and if she isn't, she's just a cold blooded, heartless bitch," He caught the surprised look Anita was giving him and he said, "Her husband's father is gunned down just a few yards from where they are and she starts screaming in rejoice. She's brought in for questioning as the key suspect as of yet, and she doesn't get what the big deal is? What kind of person is she?"

"What kind of person was the father might be a better question," Van Buren told him, "These people are a very public couple, he's on every magazine and they're both on every talk show, for years there have been rumors that his father was a violent drunk who terrorized his wife and son their whole lives."

Jack looked at her questioningly and she answered without missing a beat, "When was the last time _you_ stood in a grocery store checkout line behind someone with a full cart? Gotta do something to pass the time."

"What does the son say about it?" Jack asked.

"He was asked on a TV interview a few years ago, and he said simply that they didn't get along, and added that that was an understatement, and he never elaborated on it."

"That's _exactly_ what he said to us tonight," Lennie told them, "Word for word."

"Whatever went on," Anita told Jack, "He didn't want to talk about it."

"So make him talk about it," Jack said, "I'm not going to build a case on Hollywood gossip and idle rumors, I'm not going to make this woman out to be some kind of hero."

"I don't know if you saw what we were seeing," Rey said to Jack, "But that guy doesn't seem to be all there, and I don't think it's simple shock."

"He's co-owner of a billion dollar movie business, I think he knows very well what he's doing," Jack replied.

"I don't know," Lennie added, "I got the impression he's used to other people doing most of his talking for him. It…almost seemed like his wife pulls the strings for him. In my opinion…"

"Your _professional_ opinion as a homicide detective?" Jack asked.

"In my professional opinion of reading people for 30 years," Lennie replied, "He doesn't look like he stands too well alone on his two feet. If you've noticed, he's got this kind of beaten dog expression, anything happens, he won't fight it, he won't dispute it, because it'll make the situation worse. It makes it easier to believe all the horrible stories about the old man, because he does _look_ like he was put through some kind of horrific ordeal at some point."

"Well it seems everybody's divided on if they believe the stories or not," Van Buren said, "That woman may be a psycho but she was right about one thing, based on popular opinion, half of the world sympathizes with her husband, anybody _could_ have killed the father. You know the crazy things fans will do for their idols, besides, nobody found a gun, and there was _no_ way she could've hidden one on her wearing _that_ dress."

"And she was the first one to say anything about a gunshot residue test which means she doesn't have any on her hands, I know this song and dance," Jack said, "I also know some people should play poker professionally, nobody calls their bluffs."

"You think that was a bluff?" Anita asked.

"It's something," Jack answered, "It's one step away from rubbing our noses in the fact she got away with killing her father-in-law. She's the best candidate for a suspect, she _wanted_ her father-in-law dead."

"I wanted _my_ father-in-law dead when I was still married," Lennie spoke up, "Doesn't mean anything. Most people spend their whole lives in mere 'want'. And it doesn't mean anything without any evidence, of which there currently is none. And if the stories of abuse prove to be true, people are going to side with her."

"Whatever Oswald Cain was is irrelevant now," Jack insisted, "This is a public spectacle and the longer we don't know who did it, it's just going to turn into a media 3 ring circus, this news is already traveling around the world as we speak."

"And nation to nation the world is probably celebrating," Anita suggested, "It's just any wonder nobody killed this guy _sooner_."

"Regardless of what he was or what he might've been, that doesn't make shooting him right," Jack remarked.

"Yeah well, some people didn't think a woman setting her husband on fire was right either," Anita said, "But majority overruled then too based on what he was to his wife and children he beat and terrorized on a daily basis."

"That's not the same thing as what happened here," Jack told her.

"The murder wasn't, but can we really say the circumstances leading up to tonight's event weren't?" Anita asked him, "You willing to put your money on that bet, Counselor?"

"The son is 31 years old, he could've cut ties with his father years ago," Jack said.

"And Francine Hughes got divorced, moved, and got a restraining order, her husband still moved right into her new home and stayed," Anita pointed out, "Just because _you_ cut ties doesn't mean they don't duct tape them back together."

"If that's what Oswald Cain did, his son could've had him arrested."

"That's what they did with Mickey Hughes too, the cops generally kept him for one weekend before sending him back home to his wife to try and kill her again," Anita said.

"Because she refused to press charges," Jack told her, "I read the book too, Anita."

"Millions of women have _lived_ it and a good percentage of them have also _died_ it, it's easy to say 'press charges' it's a whole other thing to actually do it," she remarked. "It took a woman setting her husband on fire for the world to wake up and acknowledge battered women need _help_, not to just be ignored, turned away and told 'sorry, there's nothing I can do' at every turn and sent back home to their husbands to resume being good little wives who are seen and not heard and beaten at any given time because their husbands aren't satisfied with them."

"And what did the shooting that happened tonight resolve?" Jack wanted to know.

Anita folded her arms against her chest and told him, "To find that out we're going to have to find out more about this woman and her husband and the whole family, Counselor, we're going to have to step on a lot of toes and maybe crush a few in the process and maybe open ourselves and your office and the whole city up to a lawsuit, do you read me loud and clear?"

"So do it," Jack told her without missing a beat, "Whatever artillery they break out, we're pushing back, if we're wrong then I'll express the sincerest apology on behalf of the D.A.'s office, if I'm right, I'm not letting a murderer walk just because she had the sense to be so brazen as to make herself look too guilty to be guilty."

Lennie let a couple beats skip before he commented, "Have to admit though, it's a hell of a defense plan."

"She's either trying for an insanity defense," Jack told Van Buren, "_Or_ she's going the extra mile to make herself look innocent by making herself look too guilty."

"_Or_," Lennie added, "She's just a psychopath, it's a common option, I don't think we should rule it out just yet."

"Whatever she is, find it out," Jack told the detectives, "Whatever they _all_ are. Find out what you can about every last creepy character in that family."


	3. Chapter 3

"You know, Rey, when you said multi-millionaire, somehow I had something a little more in mind than this," Lennie said the next morning when they pulled up outside Jimmy Cain's mansion.

Given the Cains' financial condition, the 2 story, 20 room house was fairly modest in size and appearance. In their time, the detectives had been to rich people's homes that looked like they were trying for a French villa look or copying the White House; by comparison this looked like a regular house that just happened to run a little large. There were two upstairs balconies outside the French doors, that, and the large wraparound porch seemed to be all the frills that came with the place. Even the yard was modest, it was large, but modest, pretty bare actually. Rich people, celebrities, go to their home and you could expect to find they had their own golf course, own tennis court, own horse stable, own shooting range, etc., here, as far as they could see, aside from the trees and the grass, all there was around the property was a large in the ground pool in the side yard and…what looked like a few pieces of playground equipment set up: a swing set, a jungle gym, a merry-go-round, a climbing tower, etc. Otherwise…nothing, just green grass as far as the eye could see, which for this property only ran about…1 whole square block in the well to do neighborhood they'd come to visit. The front property was gated off, however, and they'd have to get buzzed in to enter.

"Maybe it's just a weekend home," Rey said jokingly, "Maybe they usually stay in a bigger place."

"Yeah, sure, like Texas," Lennie replied as they got out of the car.

"Hey look," Rey pointed to the front gates.

"Ah, I see word of Daddy Dearest's untimely passing got out," Lennie said as they took in the menagerie of balloons, signs, banners, stuffed animals and candles that were piled up by the right gate door's hinges.

"This whole thing gives me the creeps," Rey commented.

"Hey look, a card," Lennie picked up a pastel envelope from the assortment.

"It's illegal to read other people's mail, Lennie," Rey said as he looked up to the house.

"No stamp, it's not mail," Lennie replied, "And the flap's not glued down." He took the card out, opened it up and read, "Congratulations on your loss," he stopped and looked to his partner, "There's a greeting you don't hear everyday." He looked back to the card and continued reading, "Much love from your biggest fans, Henry and Eileen Wilcox. Well, isn't that nice?" he asked sarcastically.

"Sheesh, this guy really _was_ hated, wasn't he?" Rey asked.

"Sure seems like it," Lennie nodded.

"How willing do you think they're going to be to talk to us?"

"I think the wife could sing like Grace Slick, now that we're on _her_ turf I'll just bet she'll be only too happy to tell us everything we want to know, and plenty of stuff that we _don't_."

"Guess beggars can't be choosers, eh?" Rey asked.

"Not in our line of work," Lennie replied as he reached for the intercom buzzer on the gate.

Before he could press the button, the gates already started to open, Lennie took a step back and murmured to Rey, "Oh, what _service_."

"Excuse me," a 30-something woman in a maid's outfit said as she walked out towards the gates, "If you're reporters, they're not giving an interview today."

"Actually we're not reporters," Lennie said as they flashed their badges.

"Can we come in?" Rey asked.

The maid collected some of the balloons and other paraphernalia and said, "I suppose it's alright, Mrs. Watkins didn't say nothing against it."

"Hopefully we won't take up too much of their time," Rey said.

"You guys got a big celebration going on or something?" Lennie inquired.

"Not yet," the maid said as they walked up towards the house, "Family's coming out later."

"You worked for Mr. Cain long?" Rey asked.

"A couple years," she answered.

"What about Mrs. Cain?" Lennie asked.

The maid turned to him questioningly as they walked and asked, "His mother?"

"The wife," Rey told her.

"Oh, Mrs. Watkins, yeah, yeah, she been here since I started."

"What can you tell us about them?" Rey asked.

"Oh they're nice," she answered.

"When exactly did Mr. Cain get married?" Rey asked, "Do you know?"

"A couple years ago," the maid said.

"In all that time, did you ever hear her express a desire to kill Mr. Cain's father?" Lennie asked.

"Oh yeah, _all_ the time," she answered.

"What's your name?" Rey asked her.

"Loretta!" Lynda's voice bellowed out the open front door.

"That's me," she said by way of response.

Lynda Watkins appeared at the door, changed out of her dress from last night and now in a casual T-shirt and blue jeans, and barefoot, Lennie noticed, yet somehow he doubted it was a death custom in this household.

"Mrs. Watkins, may we come in?" Rey asked.

"Did you find out who shot Oswald?" she asked.

"No, we're still investigating," Lennie said, stepping in without waiting for permission, "We've got a few questions to ask if you don't mind, it's all strictly routine you understand."

The woman just smiled at them like the cat that swallowed the canary and said, "I watch Columbo, I know a fishing expedition when I hear one, by all means, come on in and fish away, I have no secrets, I have nothing to hide."

"Oh you have no idea how much simpler that would make our jobs if more people were like you," Lennie said cynically.

"You have no idea how lucky you are to have come when you did," Lynda replied, "The phone's been ringing off the hook all morning."

"Is your husband home?" Rey asked.

"Yeah, Jimmy's here, so's his mama, she's still kind of out of it, so I wouldn't expect anything too credible out of _her_ just yet," Lynda answered as she walked them into the living room, "Of course the old girl's gonna have to snap out of it soon, we've got the whole family turning out today."

"Your family?"

"Jimmy's got a lot of cousins, all ties were severed with Oswald's side of the family _long_ ago," Lynda said as she cleared a pile of newspapers away to make a spot on the couch to sit down. She sat down there and the two homicide detectives sat down in a couple chairs.

"What about your own family, Miss Watkins?" Rey asked.

"I have no family, wouldn't you know when you have a family it's divided into two sides, the good side of the family, and the bad side of the family, and as nature would have it, the good side always dies first and forces you to land on your feet and pull your life together. So what's not dead is disowned and it's just me and Jimmy here."

"This is a nice place you got here," Lennie said, "Ironically it doesn't scream 'money'."

"It's cozy, we like it," she responded.

"So…was your father-in-law ever in this house?" Rey asked.

Lynda snorted and told him, "If he had been, he'd had a chalk ring around him a lot sooner."

"So he wasn't allowed here," Lennie said.

"I told Jimmy we ought to hire armed guards and give them orders to shoot if the old bastard ever came within 100 feet of those gates," she pointed out the window, "But, what can you do? We really didn't need all the added publicity. And I guess in the long run we didn't need them after all."

"Miss Watkins, if you don't mind us asking," Rey said, "How long have you and your husband been married?"

"About two years," she answered, "You understand of course, that was actually just our coming out."

"Excuse me?" Lennie cleared his throat.

"Jimmy was already a very public figure by the time I met him," Lynda explained, "It wasn't good for his public image to be seen with a nobody, so we saw each other in private for a couple years, then WHAM we decided to get married and make it official, the wedding itself was private, but we gave it a very public post-announcement, and the media just went _nutty_. They couldn't figure it out, they didn't know if they were coming or going, it was beautiful."

"And the rest was history, right?" Lennie asked.

"I guess you could say that."

"Not exactly the ideal storybook marriage, eh?" Lennie asked.

"That's for the storybooks, not real life," Lynda told him.

"Exactly how long had Oswald been a problem?" Rey asked.

"Since the day he was born," Lynda said.

"I mean," Rey resisted the small laugh that threatened to break loose, "How long was he a problem for you?"

"Oh he liked to make trouble when he could, but I already knew that going into this marriage," she said.

"What you said last night," Lennie said, "About plotting a hundred different ways to kill him, you mean that started _before_ you actually met Jimmy?"

"Yeah," she answered nonchalantly, "I tell you, I'm really pissed off that somebody else beat me to actually doing it, but at the same time he did the community a tremendous favor, so if you ever _do_ find the lucky bastard, let me know, I'm personally going to buy him a drink and the biggest steak in New York, and then I'm going to kick his ass."

"If you don't mind our asking," Rey spoke up, "Why would you intentionally marry a man whose father you despised so much?"

"I didn't marry Oswald, I didn't marry the family, I married Jimmy and that was it," Lynda told them.

"And yet Oswald managed to muscle his way back into you guys' life," Rey said, "Jimmy couldn't have taken too lightly to that."

"Jimmy doesn't take lightly to rush hour traffic either, but who does?" Lynda asked as she absently picked at her nails, "My husband is one big bundle of nerves, he does _not_ do well when he's stressed out, and that bastard Oswald caused stress wherever he went, the world suddenly got a little bit brighter."

"I'd think being a co-owner of a multi million dollar movie company would be stress in itself," Lennie noted.

"That's business stress, that's different," Lynda said, "You don't grow up with that, it doesn't raise you."

"I see," Lennie replied and cleared his throat, "Since you already established we're playing Columbo, there's one more thing, how exactly _did_ you and your husband meet?"

"He was making a public appearance someplace a few years ago right after he got famous, I'm still not exactly sure how, but I managed to get past all the security and I ran up to him and hugged him so hard I lifted him right off the ground. After that we were more or less inseparable though we knew how to play it smart so the media never found out. From that day to the wedding, nobody ever remembered the crazy young girl who broke past security and got at the #1 Bachelor in America."

"You said that you owned several guns," Rey said, "Would you mind us taking them to check to see if any have been fired recently?"

"You're wasting your time, but I won't hold you up," Lynda told them, "But honestly, detectives, if I _had_ shot Oswald, do you really think I'd be dumb enough to bring the murder weapon back here _knowing_ you'd come to check them?"

"Some people are sentimental like that, they like a trophy, a souvenir from the killing," Lennie said.

"Pshaw, I wouldn't need a trophy, seeing him die before me would be souvenir enough," she responded, "All my life has been leave behind and move on, things have no value to me, things don't last, things don't last as long as most people do, especially today the way everything's manufactured to fall apart the day after the warranty expires."

"Oh, if you don't mind my asking, we couldn't help noticing the jungle gym outside," Lennie added, "Uh…you and your husband have any kids?"

"Not yet but we might start _now_," Lynda answered.

"What was that, wishful thinking?" Lennie pointed towards the window.

"Jimmy has a lot of cousins, some of them are still kids, besides, we're a good couple miles from any park, this way any local kids nearby have a place to play, we don't mind them being here, and everybody likes _us_ so it's no problem."

"I see."

"While we're here, do you mind if we speak to your husband and your mother-in-law?" Rey asked.

"I don't mind, but take anything Astrid says with a grain of salt, she's going to deny everything, that old bastard terrorized her too, she's always been stupid enough to stand up for him and defend him and try to justify everything he ever did to Jimmy, and to her," Lynda advised them, and as they stood up she asked the detectives, "Did you know the reason she came to be at the police station last night was because he had the nerve to call her from the payphone outside the club, telling _her_ to come and pick _him_ up?" She let out a guffaw and told them, "If I was married to him, I wouldn't throw vinegar on him if he was on fire."

"But maybe a little gasoline, right?" Lennie asked.

"Detective, I swear you know me like a book," she smiled.

"Where _is_ your husband?" Rey asked.

"Try the kitchen," Lynda pointed the way. She stayed in the living room and picked the phone up off the coffee table to make a call.

"Hey Lennie," Rey said to his partner once they were alone in the dining room en route to the kitchen, "You notice something kind of weird in what she told us?"

"Only _one_ weird thing, Rey?" Lennie replied.

"She said the father called the mother to come and pick him up at the club last night," Rey said.

"But she wasn't on the scene when we got there, so where the hell was she?" Lennie seemed to finish the thought for his partner.

The two homicide detectives looked to each other and considered what it meant.

"There's no way that woman would off her father-in-law and _not_ take the credit for it," Rey said, "I get the impression she thinks a jury would acquit her in a heartbeat."

"They probably would," Lennie said, "And maybe Dear Old Ma got tired of covering for her hubby and decided to take that chance for herself, she'd definitely be more sympathetic." He nodded, "Let's go see what _Mrs._ Cain has to say about last night."


End file.
